The Epic Of Hilan: Chapter I

[Bircalin 332]

"What started off as ten, only I remain

 Immolated by the black foe

Setherien is his name..."



Crunch...Crunch...Crunch...
The stark white snow beneath crackled and moulded around the ranger's dark, leathery boots as he trudged into the unforgiving tundra. He took caution to wrap himself tightly in thick cloths for the journey ahead, only a fool would think to go beyond the wall of ice unprepared, after all.
Ahead, a dim light glowed, the light of the Warden Aruzond's abode.
His goal was clear; acquire some form of relic to return with and research.

Time was running out. The Dark Lieutenants pressed further and further each day and as the nations bicker, they weaken. If a weakness could not be found soon...

Warmth. He was inside of the Warden's lair, standing at the bookshelves displayed neatly before him.
Though the books themselves contained nothing of use. Wordless scribblings and mouthless whispers.

The ranger turned to the voice calling out from behind him, across the stone dwelling and up a small set of stairs. Jack - a Human man, seemingly aged in his years with a brutal scar disfiguring a good portion of his upper face, utterly blinding one eye. However he was, most of all, a friend.
For some time they spoke, and Jack clarified that the pair of them were fortunate to cross paths with such similar goals. They both searched for knowledge, and saw fit they accompany one another deeper into the lands that seemed to swallow all life that so foolishly entered its maw.

They departed from Aruzond's abode unnoticed, making their way onwards with little delay.
To accompany them, only the harsh bite of the blistering breeze and the delicate clutch of frostbite as it seeped into their skin. Time was most certainly not on their side, here.

They had to strike hard, to strike fast.

Like the rangers they were made to be.

Crunch...Crunch...Crunch...